Wordless
by EnchanteRhea
Summary: Soubi takes friendship for granted. Kio asks difficult questions. It takes time and effort to discover a painless way to mutual understanding.


Note: This story happens more or less two years prior to the current events in the manga and, therefore, deals with younger Soubi and Kio. Contains no spoilers, obviously. Altogether, it is a response to Chained Dove's challenge:_ What would Soubi do, if he had to be the comforter, for once? _Thank you for editing and other (much appreciated) kinds of help goes to Maaya, Shan, Alura and Kiyoshi. All remaining faults are mine.  
Disclaimer: Loveless is not mine. If it were mine, I would not be writing fanfiction.  
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**Wordless**  
by Rhea Logan

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At the end of the day, the soothing warmth of bath water splashing against his skin was all it took to give Soubi a gentle push towards the arms of sleep. Heavy eyelids lifted a bit; he let his eyes lazily trace the trembling shadow on the surface of the water. It moved, grew in size and substance as he watched. Dissolved among the ripples, the lines slowly regained their sharp contours. They formed a passing image of unruly hair and a pretty face.

Soubi smiled.

Kio dipped the wash cloth in the water and returned to kneeling behind the tub. He nudged Soubi's stiff shoulder muscles with his fingertip. "That's got to hurt. You need to loosen up."

The gentle stroking of Kio's hands was lulling him half to sleep. There, in this illusion of a dream, his defenses were not as strong as Soubi needed them to be.

"Like this?"

Kio spoke softly just behind his ear; a husky voice Soubi knew he should not listen to as intently as he was. His murmured approval resonated deep in his throat. Kio's hands, he mused sleepily, carried the scent of soap. Fingertips traced tiny circles on his skin, then brushed away, breaking the pattern. What short-lived sketch they drew on the back of his neck only Kio knew, and Soubi felt no need to ask.

"Sou-chan?"

The pleasant motion ceased. Kio's voice, laced with a strange, thoughtful note, pulled Soubi out of his reverie. Tentative hands slid across his neck – a touch here, a caress there, weaving their course towards his throat. Soubi shuddered at the tender brush of skin against the scars there.

The water around him stirred; a mirror reflection of the unease that stole its way into him past the unsound calm.

"Those letters..." Kio started softly. "What do they mean?"

Soubi stiffened. Startled, he realized how well Kio was tuned into him; he removed his hands at once and moved slightly away. He opened his eyes, displeased; he could swear Kio had asked that very question before.

"Beloved," he said, because Kio had yet to learn the meaning of his silence. But that sudden trembling underneath his voice had no right to stay, so he continued calmly, "One who is dearly loved by another."

Kio sighed and Soubi turned, only to catch a glimpse of the contours of his thin silhouette hunched on the floor. He was looking away, chewing absently on his lower lip.

"Wouldn't that mean that he..." Kio's voice trailed off into silence. He cleared his throat and let his eyes settle on Soubi again. "That Aoyagi loves you?"

Soubi chuckled - a forced sound, pushed forth by the sudden sting of white-hot needles through his heart. It sounded more like a muffled cry, at least in his own ears, but this was not the kind of question that would teach the Fighter he was how to cry again.

"Isn't that logical?" he asked and sighed, intending to mention Kio's having asked before. But Kio slumped down a little and Soubi's throat constricted, stopping the words before they slipped past his suddenly dry lips. "Kio?"

"I don't understand," Kio's voice was quiet, subdued, his face hidden in his arms. "Why would you let him do that if-- if that's not even true?"

Indeed, Soubi thought wistfully; Kio could not understand. That scar was the name that had made them one; Beloved, the strongest, two halves of the same soul. "It is true," he said evenly. He wished it were, and maybe it was, in a way.

Kio's eyes were red – yet dry – and he pulled himself rapidly up, wet hands slippery on the floor. "You're not as good a liar as you think you are," he said, temper a hair's breadth away from flaring up. But before it struck, Kio turned on his heel, wiping his palms on the front of his t-shirt on his way out.

He never looked back.

-

Soubi watched Kio walk away and his heart sank a little. He stepped out of the bath, shivering in the cool air. Wet hair clung to his back. The promising cobwebs of sleep escaped him, chased away by their exchange of words.

He caught himself thinking that Kio should not have turned away from him. That he wanted him to come back and say he understood. He reached for a towel, wrapped it around his hips and let a reluctant thought brush against that unsettling need.

Had Kio known what he had stepped into when he had walked – stormed, really - into his life? He could not remember anymore. Maybe he had told him not to expect too much. Maybe he had warned that his world and Kio's were light years apart. He might have said that he could promise no explanations satisfactory enough but, regardless of it all, he remembered Kio's words so clearly, even now. He had said, over and over again, that he wanted to stay.

Did he still? Whatever Kio's choice, Soubi thought, he would manage on his own. It could not be difficult to learn how to be alone again.

-

The quiet of the large room did not match the view in front of him. Kio stood with his shoulders braced against the fridge, a can of light beer pressed to his left cheek. He must have heard Soubi walk in, but he did not move - a silent, sorrow-painted still-life against the background of dim white.

"I thought you left." Soubi adjusted the towel lest it drop and watched Kio's chest jolt with a sharp intake of air at the sound of his voice.

"Yeah. So did I." The corners of Kio's mouth trembled slightly as he spoke. "Didn't really work."

Soubi thought twice before he moved. Hurt skewed the fine arch of Kio's brow, and he was not sure at all what he would do, should he fall apart. Could he have been the only reason for this? Friendship, Soubi remembered, came with benefits - yet it demanded that he, too, sometimes offer them. Relationships required that he remember to care.

"So I see," he said lightly. His bare feet made soft sounds against the floor. He watched Kio's eyes crack open and settle on him; a tired look, one of confusion and something like a broken heart.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

The can popped open. Kio pressed it to his mouth and drank until he ran out of breath. "No," he said simply. He pulled his eyes off Soubi and took a step back. "Not really." Another sip and he was done; the tossed can rattled atop the pile of others in a plastic bag on the floor. Kio swallowed thickly and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. "I should go."

_Your will, your choice,_ Soubi thought. "Good night, then," he said, opening the fridge to retrieve a can for himself.

But Kio did not walk out – he spun around and rushed to Soubi's side. A hand clasped around his arm; wide open eyes searched his, and Kio whispered roughly, "Soubi, do you know me at all? Do you think I _want_ to go? Does it matter what I want?"

Soubi took this promise of an outburst in stride. He kept his voice low, asking, "What do you want?"

It had to be madness that drove Kio – smaller, desperate Kio - to push Soubi so hard into the wall. He dropped the can he was holding. It clattered against the floor. Spilled beer hissed as it ran under his feet. Desperation lent Kio strength, yet it was still such an uneven match. Soubi's back connected hard with the cold wall; he caught Kio's wrists and held them, lest he go too far.

Kio's breathing sounded harsh in his ears, inches away, blowing hot air onto his skin. Silence, he thought. His silence had been the reason for this. He watched that pretty face contort in pain and curiosity claimed the better of him.

"Tell me," he whispered. He pulled the hands he held a little further up, loosening his grip to let Kio know that he meant no harm. "Tell me what you want."

"I want you to stop confusing me like this," Kio blurted, almost cutting him off - words he obviously needed to say and had held back until they turned into something unstoppable. "I want to say I'm leaving and mean it and do it without feeling like I'm burning the last bridge between you and me. I want to know what the hell I'm doing here, and why you look like you don't give a damn."

Soubi shivered at the contact as he reached to brush Kio's wild hair out of his eyes. "I do," he said, wondering if it sounded convincing enough.

"And I want to know why you're such a moron, Soubi, keeping everything bottled up until one day it explodes. 'Cause, you know, it _will_ explode - on me, because there's nobody else to catch you when you hit the ground. And I'll take it, but why won't you--" Kio broke off. He wrenched his left hand out of Soubi's loose grasp and laid it against his collarbones, stiff fingers splayed over the scars. "If it hurts, why won't you cry?"

Soubi shuddered. He wondered if Kio felt it. What did he know about that kind of pain? And who gave him the idea-- "I don't cry," he said.

Kio shook his head. "You are always crying, Soubi. Every day." He looked away. "Just not on the outside."

The deafening echo of his heartbeat raised a soundproof barrier between him and the world. Struck by a sudden fear that his heart would stop if he closed his eyes, Soubi stood, unblinking, unfeeling. _Always... _

Then reality returned – Kio's hands on his neck, clutching at his hair, fingers tangling in the wet strands-- _...crying?_ --Kio's palms brushing roughly down his bare arms, across his shoulder blades, pulling him into waiting arms, taming the whirlwind of his mind. Kio's hands linked firmly at the small of his back, clinging as if it were the last thing to keep them both from falling apart.

Soubi shivered as wet mouth ghosted over his neck. "Kio." He swore in his thoughts. He intended to stop him, not to lend his name the sound of a curse.

"Sou-chan..." Kio kept his eyes tightly closed. His hands grew bolder, letting go only to run up his skin towards the scars again. "What are we doing?"

_Good question,_ Soubi thought. "I am backed against the wall," he said. It was as good a thing to say as any, because there _was_ not a single thing he deemed right enough. "I'm not sure about you."

Kio gave his head a violent shake. "You are being stupid. I am trying to make you see it."

Soubi held his breath. He did not need this. Or did he? After all, he had called himself Kio's friend. He had allowed Kio to call himself one of his, as well. The only one, perhaps; the only one who cared and expected nothing in return. But that nothing - it had found its way through Kio's shell, and Soubi suddenly felt too strange to stay.

He looked down at the glistening stains on the floor and, without a word, he pushed Kio gently aside.

"Don't walk away like this," he heard behind him – a rough would-be whisper laced with need.

"I am not," he said calmly. He walked over to the sink and picked up a cleaning cloth that hung on the wall.

"The hell you aren't!"

"I'm not," Soubi repeated, as though he spoke to a child. "The beer is all over the floor."

He wiped the liquid dry, dead-set on ignoring the fact that Kio's eyes followed him around. Seconds rolled past and, slowly, his breathing calmed down. Soubi gave him time before he tossed the dirty cloth away and returned his stare.

"There is one more thing I want to know." Kio tried to look as calm, as collected as he could, unlikely to realize how much his expression continued to betray. "Is there any other reason we're friends, apart from the fact that it's very convenient for _you?_"

_Is there?_ Soubi shrugged. "I enjoy your company," he said, and it was not a lie. Yet now that he thought about it – when he had voiced it, for the first time – it did not seem to be reason enough. Not for Kio, at least, if his expression was any indication of that.

Kio pursed his lips and sighed. He reached into the pocket of his jeans, retrieving a Chupa with a shaking hand. The wrappings claimed his attention for a longer while.

Soubi stood, not sure what to do. A light, evening breeze darted in through the crack in the window and he crossed his arms to ward off the cold. The damp towel did nothing to provide any amount of warmth.

"If I walked out now..." Kio started carefully. He pulled his eyes off Soubi's face and lowered his voice to add, "what would you do?"

Soubi choked back on his instinctive response. He would lock the door behind Kio and light a cigarette. Maybe he would wonder – briefly - how long it would take him to return again. But something in the way Kio held himself in check by the last threads of self-control told him that it was the last thing his friend needed to hear.

Kio sat heavily on the floor, pretending Soubi was not there. He twirled the Chupa stick absently between his fingers. "Sure," he said at last. "I know. You don't even have to say it."

Soubi watched him out of the corner of his eye and something like understanding began to dawn on him. Kio, he thought, was everything he, himself, was not. All aspects varied, but one. He longed for Soubi's affection no less than Soubi craved it from his Sacrifice.

The distance between them was small – a step or two – yet it seemed much greater and his legs betrayed him, shaking ever so slightly as he moved. He was not sure about this at all; maybe it would be better to leave the matters be. But he took the first step, and then another, and rested his hand at the back of Kio's bowed head.

"Idiot." Kio's voice sounded raw, words struggling up inside him as though he had a hard confession to make. "Get dressed. You'll catch a cold."

Soubi raised an eyebrow at Kio's attempt to pretend he was done and all right again. Then he secured the corner of his towel and sat by his side. "I'll be fine," he said.

Kio shifted his weight, half-turning away. He took off his glasses; they landed, discarded, somewhere in his lap. He laid his head down on his arms and stared absently out of the window. He must have bitten down on the candy too hard; it crunched under his teeth for a while. Then it ceased, and their breathing remained the only sound.

Soubi welcomed silence at most times, but now it hung between them - heavy, stagnant. Words had escaped him, now that they were needed, and he found a strange irony in this. Was there a spell inconspicuous enough that he could use, to break the one that held them enslaved? He stared at Kio's messy hair; bright like the man himself. But Kio looked defeated, his spirits dampened and crushed under an invisible weight.

Where words had failed, he thought, silence stood a chance. Soubi slipped behind him and sneaked his arm under Kio's, across his chest. He smiled at the sound of a small gasp. Kio's hair smelled of jasmine and rosemary, and Soubi leaned into the scent, slightly surprised by how pleasant it felt. He pulled Kio against himself and laid a gentle hand against his temple, rubbing the hot skin there.

"Sometimes..." Kio's voice was whisper-soft, "sometimes you make me want to give up on you."

His own rapid heartbeat echoed far too loud. Kio was warm in his arms, so _alive,_ and he was trembling... Soubi closed his eyes. "Would you?" he asked; a hesitant question, and he was not sure whether he could bear the answer he feared Kio might give.

One day, he knew, they would part ways. He did not want it to happen just yet.

But the only response that got him was a quiet sigh. Kio relaxed against him, at last; he rested his head on Soubi's shoulder and let his eyes slide shut. He brushed his fingers across the goose bumps on Soubi's arm, tracing the fine line of the bones there until his hand and Soubi's entwined.

"No," he said. "You're not getting rid of me that easily, Sou-chan."

Soubi shivered at the touch of wetness, the softest trail running across his skin. Unbecoming for a man, he thought, and he almost said it aloud - but something told him to hold his tongue, for now. Maybe he owed this to him - a good turn for all the favors, for everything Kio was ready to give. And maybe, he mused, maybe this could be all right; to have _and_ to belong, so they both could feel better, tonight.

He stroked the silky hair at his fingertips and pondered all Kio had said before the wordless charm wrapped them in its nets. It struck a strange chord at the bottom of his heart. He heard himself ask, "Does that mean you will stay? Just like that?"

Kio gave a small nod. "Yeah," he murmured as he turned his head. His lips brushed faintly against Soubi's scar. "Just like that."

--

March 30th - April 7th, 2006


End file.
